


What Are Friends For?

by ohmarqueliot



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hand Jobs, M/M, Voyeurism, platonic hand jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 13:44:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16198715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmarqueliot/pseuds/ohmarqueliot
Summary: Eliot is so worked up by Quentin that he can't sleep. Margo offers to give him a hand. Set during Eliot and Margo's second year.





	What Are Friends For?

Breaking his earlier promise to himself to keep his eyes closed, Eliot rolled onto his side to pick up his watch from the nightstand, angling it in the moonlight from the open window to check the time. Groaning in frustration, he dropped his head back onto the pillow, closing his eyes and clutching the watch to his chest. It was only fifteen minutes since the last time he’d checked, but it felt like an hour.

He could not stare at the ceiling for one more goddamned minute.

Slipping out of bed, Eliot pulled on a fresh pair of underwear and palmed his half-half cock through the soft material with a sigh. Taking his robe from the hook on the back of the door, he slipped his arms through the sleeves but didn’t bother to tie it shut, letting it hang open.

The common room was empty and almost as dark as his bedroom, the few candles scattered here and there only throwing a small amount of light. Pouring some whiskey into a glass, he took the bottle with him and placed it in easy reach on the coffee table before sinking into the couch.

The change of scenery lifted some of his boredom, but the itch under his skin stayed with him, keeping him far too alert to sleep. He tossed back the rest of his drink in one go and poured another, hoping he could at least drink himself to sleep.

Leaning back against the couch, he rested the glass on his thigh and his other hand on his lower stomach, scratching lightly through the coarse hairs above his underwear and wondering if he should try jerking off again. His earlier attempt had been… fine. He’d gotten himself off, sure, but his own hand was a poor substitute for what he really wanted.

He thought about sneaking into Quentin’s room and crawling into his bed, just to see what would happen, but thought that waking him up by pressing his boner against him might be a little rapey when he still wasn’t _entirely_ sure of his interest. Eliot literally could not flirt with him any more blatantly, but he still couldn’t figure out if the way he always turned red and stiffened before brushing it off was because he was into it or whether he just felt uncomfortable with the attention. Honestly, with Quentin it could go either way.

For anyone else, he’d just make his move and if he’d guessed wrong then oh well, but with Quentin it was different. Quentin was… well, his friend, he supposed. His friend who he really wanted to fuck. He didn’t have a clue exactly what it was about him that was getting to him so much, but he knew without a doubt that he could blow Quentin’s mind. Just as much as he knew that if he made a proper move before he was ready, Quentin would over-think absolutely everything about it to the extent that it would fuck everything up.

Eliot wasn’t afraid of a little drama, but he felt a little too protective of the awkward little first year nerd to be the cause of it.

He was just finishing his second drink when the front door opened. He glanced up disinterestedly, and then looked again when he caught Margo closing the door quietly behind her. Balancing his empty glass in the dip between his thighs, he brought his hands together in a slow clap, smirking when she jumped and then found his gaze in the dark.

“That,” she said, eyeing him with her hand on her hip, “is creepy as fuck.”

“How was your night?” he asked as she sauntered over to him. Dropping her clutch on the coffee table, she picked up the whiskey. He held out his glass for her, nodding his thanks when she poured for him.

Taking a long draw straight from the bottle, Margo crawled onto the couch beside him, tucking her legs up underneath her. “Very satisfying, thank you,” she said impishly, her arm warm against his as she leaned into him. Turning her head, she pouted at him. “Aw, were you waiting up for me?”

He scoffed, lifting his arm so she could settle beneath it. He found it endearing that she snubbed a post coital cuddle in favour of one with him, but he just knew the daggers she’d give him if he even hinted that he knew what she was doing. “You wish,” he said, lowering his arm and running his fingers idly up and down hers. “I can’t sleep.”

Margo rested her head against his chest, and he felt the tickle of her hair against his skin. “That’s not the first night this week.”

“I feel like my game is off, Margo,” he said with a dramatic sigh.

He felt as much as heard her chuckle. “Oh, so this is about Quentin.”

He didn’t bother trying to deny it – she always saw straight through him. He tilted his head so that his cheek pressed against the top of her head. “I haven’t woken up with a boner this often since junior high. It’s been days since I’ve had a good sleep. I just really want to put my dick in his mouth,” he said wistfully, feeling said dick twitch at the thought. “Don’t you think he’d look so pretty with my dick in his mouth?”

Pulling back, Margo leaned her hand on his opposite leg and twisted her body so that she could look at him squarely. “You’re really worked up on him, aren’t you?” she said slowly, a smile spreading across her face as her eyes lit up with surprise and delight. She glanced down at his crotch and her smile widened. “You’re all worked up right now.”

Groaning quietly, Eliot closed his eyes, slumping further down on the couch. “So much.”

He felt a gentle touch to his forehead as Margo pushing his hair back from his face. “Poor baby.” She was still for a moment, then her fingers traced down the side of his face. He opened his eyes, smiling at her uncertainly when she trailed her knuckles down the side of his neck. She smoothed her palm over his chest for a moment before she continued to move her hand lower, and he cleared his throat pointedly.

“So… what’s this?” he said, his voice carefully casual.

She turned her hand again, her fingers dancing over the sensitive skin in the dip beside his hipbone. “Well, _I_ just had a really good lay.”

His lip twitched. “Yeah, I gathered that.”

Her fingertips traced along the skin above his underwear before dipping under the edge of the band and trailing back the other way. Eliot tensed under her touch, feeling his cock responding to the nearby stimulation. “I don’t want you to feel left out,” she said coyly. “And if it will help you sleep…”

Margo paused, her fingers hovering just inside the top of his underwear, and he met her eyes evenly, trying to gauge the situation. He couldn’t figure out an ulterior motive, and the warmth in her eyes was so clear that he didn’t really want to dissuade her. His growing erection didn’t want to dissuade her.

It wouldn’t be the first time that he’d gotten off with her hand on him, but they typically had the benefit of a usually nameless boy in between them. Or behind him. He hesitated, wondering whether this might be crossing a line, but then he realised that there was no line. This was Margo – his best friend, his other half, his soulmate.

And he was really fucking horny.

“What are you waiting for, then?” he asked, arching his eyebrow challengingly, and her smile stretched into something wicked.

Her fingers moved along the inside of his underwear until they reached his side, her other hand taking the other side and he lifted his hips so that she could pull his underwear down. She moved slowly, drawing them down his legs and over his knees, and he shook one foot out of them so they wouldn’t restrict him. Turning back to him, she shifted her position on the couch to get comfortable and a moment later he felt her lips against his neck.  “You don’t have to put on the theatrics,” he told her.

She hummed lightly, her teeth brushing against his skin before nipping at it gently, and he felt his cock harden further in response. “I want you to enjoy yourself, baby.” A soft press of her fingers between his thighs guided his legs apart, and he closed his eyes when she cupped his balls, massaging them gently with her fingers. Pressing his lips together, Eliot breathed in slowly through his nose, holding it for a few seconds before letting it out. A part of him didn’t want her to know how turned on he was getting under a hand that was not his own, despite the fact that the evidence of the fact was right there. “And besides,” she added, squeezing his balls gently. “What are friends for?”

As she spoke, her hand left his balls to wrap around his cock, and he couldn’t hold back the low moan of relief that he felt at the touch. Enjoying the feeling of having someone close, he dropped his hand from her arm to her waist, holding her firmly against him. Keeping her grip light, she gave him a few pumps before pulling his foreskin back and stroking her thumb across the head, and he let his head fall back against the couch. “Holy fuck,” he breathed.

She pulled her hand back, and he took the moment to toss his empty glass into the corner of the couch and grab the bottle of whiskey from where it had fallen into the couch between them. Unscrewing the bottle with his teeth, he spat the lid onto the couch beside him as Margo spat into her hand. He took a long draw, enjoying the warmth that was spreading through him, before letting it rest against the outside of his thigh, his fingers gripping tightly around the neck of the bottle.

He watched carefully as Margo took him in hand once more, holding him more firmly and making short strokes over his head. His hips jerked upwards and he made a low sound in back of his throat, surprised by the strength of his reaction. After a few seconds of steadily building pleasure she started deepening the strokes, working from the head to the base and back again in steady, even movements and he let himself breathe again. They were doing this for the endgame, but it still felt too good to want to rush through it too quickly.

Risking a glance at Margo, he found her looking down at him with a small smile playing around her lips, and felt a moment of affection for her that she could genuinely take enjoyment in doing this for him. He’d truly found something remarkable in her. He… She twisted her hand on the upstroke, sending shivers through him as she tightened her fingers around the head, and he stopped thinking.

He was starting to feel the pressure build deep inside him when she suddenly slowed her strokes back to unhurried, deliberate movements and he whined faintly, bucking up into her hand. Ignoring him, she shifted her weight, leaning in close, and when she spoke her lips brushed against his ear. “He’s watching you, you know.”

There was only one person who she could mean. His whole body tensing, he opened his eyes and looked searchingly through the common room, but his eyes wouldn’t adjust to the darkness after being closed for so long. He was already breathing heavily but now it felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest. “Wha-“

He tried to lean forward, but her hand squeezed him firmly in warning and he sunk his teeth into his lower lip to hold back his moan as pleasure spiked through him. “Don’t move, you idiot,” she hissed, nosing against his neck. “He’s at the top of the stairs. He doesn’t realise I’ve seen him so he doesn’t know that _we_ know he’s there.”

The thought of Quentin standing in the darkness, watching him get off with Margo’s hand around his cock was just too much for him. He wouldn’t be watching if he didn’t want it, right? What was he thinking? Was he hard? He pictured him leaning against the banister, pulling out his cock as he watched them. He really fucking wanted to see the look on his face.

Suddenly he felt everything tenfold, every slow stroke making him shiver. “Fuck, Bambi,” he gasped.

“Uh-huh,” she said, sounding absolutely delighted. “So why don’t you give him something to think about?”

Loosening her grip slightly, she started to work him over faster, jerking him off with intent and he closed his eyes and threw his head back against the couch, groaning quietly before he understood the true brilliance of her words. Bucking his hips up, he moaned louder this time, and the combination of Margo’s hand on him and the knowledge that Quentin could see and hear everything he did had his orgasm building quickly. His fingers dug into her waist, the other hand letting go of the whiskey to grip at his thigh. “Oh, oh fuck,” he whimpered as his body started to tremble, all of his muscles tightening as heat flooded through him, and he didn’t try to hold back his cries when his cock throbbed in her grip, his release spilling over her hand and onto his stomach.

Margo slowed her movements but continued to stroke him slowly, and Eliot shuddered bodily, letting out one last satisfied moan. His mind was well and truly fuzzy, so he took a few deep breaths to gather himself before he cracked an eye open to peek at Margo, smirking despite his best efforts when he saw the knowing look on her face. “Show off,” she muttered with a grin.

He hadn’t overacted so much as… not held anything back. It had felt really fucking good, and now he felt really fucking great. And despite this interesting new development with Quentin that definitely needed his attention at some point, he actually felt tired. Bonelessly, blissfully tired. Acting on impulse, he reached up and wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, pulling her close and pressing his mouth against hers. She was still for a moment before relaxing into it, and he kissed her languidly, with all of the warmth and appreciation that he felt for her. “Thank you, Margo,” he said, sincerely.

Pulling back, Margo rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t start getting all sappy on me now,” she said. He grinned up at her lazily, and she just shook her head at him, smiling affectionately.

* * *

Pushing herself up from the couch, Margo grabbed the box of tissues from the shelf and took a few for herself before handing it to Eliot. Wiping her hand clean, she tossed the dirty tissues on the couch for him to deal with. “All ready for bed now?” she asked.

The blissed out smile on his face felt satisfying, and he looked truly relaxed for the first time in at least a week. _What am I going to do with you?_ she thought fondly, then smirked. _Or maybe, what is Quentin going to do?_ She resisted the urge to look up to the top of the staircase to see if he was still there. She was certain that she would have heard him leave, and wondered if he was too worried about the same thing to move.

“In a minute,” Eliot sighed, cleaning himself up before picking up the bottle of whiskey that still leaned against his thigh and bringing it to his lips. It was a miracle it hadn’t spilled.

Telling him goodnight, she turned and walked up the stairs, eyes widening in delight when she spotted a dark figure pressed up against the wall. He looked like he was trying to be inconspicuous and casual at the same time, and the whole effect was ruined by the obvious tenting in his thin pyjama pants. Pausing in front of him, she waited until he looked up at her, every part of him screaming reluctance. He could barely meet her eye, the poor thing. She smiled at him mischievously.

“You’re welcome for that bit of spank bank material,” she told him, reaching up to pat his cheek with the same hand that Eliot had come all over, grinning when he swallowed hard. She cocked her head, thumbing at his lower lip, and waited until he met her eye again. “But the next time you see that beautiful orgasm face, you better be causing it yourself, you hear me?” His eyes widened deliciously, and she didn’t wait for more of a response than that. “Good. Sweet dreams, Q.”

Nodding to herself, Margo headed for her bed, satisfied that she’d done more than her fair share of wing-manning for the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!


End file.
